Fake
by Invader Phoenix
Summary: She had complete faith in him. She followed him because he was her friend. Yet even when she found out the truth, she had been right. Alternate idea for one version of the "Ib All Alone" ending. Oneshot.


"Come on, Ib. The exit is this way."

"Okay." Ib looked up at the man holding her hand. "I'm glad that you're alright, Garry. I was really worried back there."

Garry turned to face her and grinned. "It's okay. I'm fine now."

"I saw Mary pick the last petal off of your rose. How did you get better?"

"I'm not entirely certain myself." He paused. "What happened to Mary, anyway?"

"I took your lighter while you were sleeping. I used it to burn her painting. Then she disappeared." Ib placed her hand into her pocket and dug out a small metal box. "Here, do you want it back?"

Garry's eyes widened at the sight of the lighter. "Actually, you can keep it. It'll help you stay safe."

The girl smiled and replaced the lighter in her pocket. Garry watched her curiously. "I was sleeping, you say?"

"Yes," Ib answered. "You were hurt, I think, and you must have been tired. It was a little weird, but I guess it makes sense." She though for a moment. "How did you find the exit anyway, Gary?"

"I...I woke up confused, so I walked without knowing where I was going. After a while, I opened a door and saw the gallery- you know, the one we came from. Then I went to find you so that we could leave. Together. I'm sure we'll find the way back."

As he turned back around to inspect the corridor, he ground his teeth together. He had to get the girl deeper into the gallery, as far from the "Fabricated World" painting as possible. She could not escape. But the only way he knew to get back there was through... There was no other option. If he was lucky, maybe she wouldn't notice. And if she did, he would have to come up with an explanation quickly. No problem. He could improvise. As he attempted to devise an explanation for what lay in the corridor, he was aware of how it all felt somewhat...wrong. Yet it was something that has to be done.

They rounded another corner, they entered the hallway he dreaded to walk. On the floor there had once rested the form of a young man. It was gone now, replaced by a large painting hanging on the wall. It depicted where the wall and floor met below. There was something oddly empty about it. The small sign below the painting gave it its title: "Forgotten Portrait."

Garry quickened his pace, calling out behind him, "Come on. We have to hurry and find the exit."

However, Ib's hand had already slipped away from his. She stood in front of the portrait, eyes wide in confusion. "What is this...? It says portrait, but there's no person in it."

"Ib, come on! We have to go!"

"I don't think this was here before." She reached out as if she wanted to touch it, but kept her hand a few inches away.

"Hurry! Come with me!" Garry cried desperately.

"Wasn't this where you were sleeping, Garry?" Ib asked, turning toward him.

"Don't get too close to it!" Garry shouted. "It could be a trap, like those paintings of women! You said it wasn't there before. Something is definitely wrong."

Ib did not respond; she simply reached for the painting again. Garry cried out and dashed forward, stepping between the girl and the artwork. He knocked her small body, sending her leering backward. Putting her arms out in front of her, she leaned forward and fell against Garry, pushing him into the painting.

When Ib regained her balance and glanced back up, she saw that the painting had changed. The subject of the piece was now clear- a young man with unnatural purple hair and a dark, furry coat. His eyes were closed. It was Garry, sleeping as she had seen him before burning Mary's painting. Alarmed and puzzled, she gingerly touched the portrait. It was solid. How could Garry have fallen in like that?

Ib jumped back as a hand reached out of the frame, like that of the lady paintings. She scurried against the opposite wall to see Garry crawl out of the artwork, panting as he stepped onto the cold floor. He glanced over at Ib with an expression she couldn't quite read; it somewhat resembled both fear and anger. She stood shakily and prepared to run. Trembling, she managed to speak. "Y-you're...a p-painting...just like M-Mary."

Garry said nothing.

"What happened?" Ib asked quietly.

"You wouldn't understand," he muttered with a sigh.

"Where is Garry?"

The fake Garry looked over the young girl, who was obviously frightened. She thought that her friend had fallen asleep- poor, innocent mind. He didn't have the stomach to tell her the truth now, despite what he was and what he was trying to do. "He's...still sleeping. But not here anymore."

"Then where is he?"

"...I guess I'm not entirely certain," the painting said.

Ib slowly turned her feet toward the direction from which they had come. "You didn't really find an exit, did you? You wanted to keep me here, just like Mary!" She gave him no time to answer before tears began running down her face. "Why would you do that? Why?"

He was silent at first as he formulated what he wanted to say. "It's obvious that you don't trust me." He pointed in the direction that led to the toy box. "But I can direct you toward the true way out. I know where it is. You can get out of here."

"No!" Ib shouted. "I'm not going anywhere you tell me to. I trusted Mary, and she...she..."

The false Garry felt a pang to the heart. He needed to cause her misery, but, at the same time, he pitied her. Perhaps it was because she was so young, or perhaps it was simply his nature. He moved closer and knelt down to her. "Everything here is either a painting, a statue, or a demented doll. Normally objects, with no other fate but to sit silently and be gawked at by gallery visitors. Guertena wanted life for his creations, and they received it. But it is no life. his creations are confined to this gallery, this universe in which we live. The only way to escape is at the cost of someone who enters this world from the other."

"She wanted us to take her place?"

He pointed at the empty portrait. "She wanted him to. And she almost succeeded."

"But I burned her painting," Ib whispered. Her bottom lip trembled as she looked up at the fake Garry. "You want to do the same thing she did?"

"I did," he said slowly.

Ib began to move away. "I'm not going to let you." She stopped and looked curiously at the "Forgotten Portrait." "This couldn't have been here for very long, right? It was only a little while after I saw Garry sleeping when you came..."

"It hasn't."

"Then how do you know everything about Guertena and the gallery? And how do remember me and Mary?"

"I guess it's natural to know, being a painting here," he said. Honestly, he wasn't entirely certain. But this seemed to make sense.

"What about his memories?"

"I don't know."

Ib blinked but did not move from where she stood. The painting did the same, not understanding her actions, or, rather, the lack thereof. Minutes ticked by as they both stood still, wordlessly facing one another. Finally, Ib cocked her head to the side in confusion. "Why aren't you doing anything?"

"Huh?"

"Why aren't you trying to stop me from leaving, like Mary would have?"

Good question. "I...I'm not sure myself."

"And I feel like you're being honest. At least, sort of. All Mary did was lie," she said. "You're not like her."

He had no response for her. An aching feeling spread through him, something he had never experienced in his short period of existence. Yet it was somewhat familiar. He turned away from her. "Go."

"What?"

"Leave. Get out if the gallery. It's what you want, isn't it?"

He had expected to immediately hear Ib's footsteps racing away from him. Away from the madness. Toward safety. But the quick, small stomps dashed toward him, followed by a pair of skinny arms wrapping themselves around his body. Stiffening in surprise, the false Garry looked down at Ib. She met his eyes and smiled. "Even if you are a painting... Even if you are part of the gallery... You're still Garry. You're still my friend."

"I was going to trap you in here," he whispered. "How does that make me your friend?"

"You were just about to let me go, though," said Ib. "Do you really want me to stay?"

"...No," he said almost silently.

"Why?"

He breathed out heavily. "The two of you... were going to leave together. He can't now. The only reason I'm here is because he wanted you to be able to leave... I can't let that go to waste."

"See?" the girl said, her smile growing wider. "You're a painting, but you're a painting of Garry. Which makes you Garry, too."

Perhaps she was right. He had come to life with knowledge of this place, of what he was and what he had to do to earn his freedom, but there were many things he still did not understand. The emotions he'd felt in his extremely brief life. The things he could not allow himself to do. His connection to the girl. Maybe he was connected to the man who had risked himself for her in more than simply subject and art. He was created out of both cruelty and kindness. The twisted desires of Guertena's final painting. The kindness of a young man for a child he had not known for long, but cared for all the same. Despite being similar in substance to Mary, the idea of repeating her actions was abhorrent. He would much rather continue to carry on the traits of the person whom he had once been, or as close to it as he could come.

He put his arms around her tiny frame. "I think... you're very smart for someone your age. I'm always going to be your friend." He grinned. "But you need to go home."

"Won't you be stuck here?" Ib asked.

"I will be. But it's important to me that you get out. I can take you back to the 'Fabricated World' painting, if you want."

She nodded with tears in her eyes. "Thank you, Garry."

He broke the embrace and wrapped his fingers around her hand. "Come on. Let's get you home."

They walked together in silence, pausing only once. Ib stooped to the ground to pick up a petal, a single blue one that Mary had dropped during her cruel game of "Loves me, loves me not." Tucking it into her pocket, she glanced up at the painting. "I want to take this back with me," she said. "I think I'll press it and keep it at my house."

He didn't speak, only squeezed her hand tighter.

When at last they came to the oblong illustration hanging on the wall, Garry knelt down and embraced the girl. She sniffled. "Don't worry about me," he whispered. "This is what I want. You'll be fine."

"I'll miss you," she said.

"I'll miss you, too," he replied. "But everything will be alright."

She smiled sadly and got to her feet. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

He watched as she wiped the tears from her eyes. She pulled a small object from her pocket. "Garry...I want you to keep this." She placed it in his hand. A pure white handkerchief, with the name "Ib" embroidered in thread. She hugged him a final time as a goodbye.

"Good luck," he said quietly. She smiled and began to walk toward the painting. "Oh, and Ib?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

* * *

Ib looked around to see the pristine white walls of the Guertena art gallery. She had the odd impression that she had been doing something, yet she could not recall what it was. With a shrug, she walked through the hallway into another exhibition room. As she walked, she stuck her hands into her pockets. Expecting to feel the clean material of her handkerchief, she was surprised to feel a cold, metal object along with something soft and delicate. Pulling the items out, she saw that she held a lighter and a rose petal. The sight of the two items next to each other brought a face into her mind- a kind, warm expression, mixed with a hint of sadness. She had no name for it. Yet the thought made her smile.

Maybe her parents were looking for her. She felt like she'd been exploring the gallery for a while; it'd be a good idea to try and find them. She was about to walk into another room when she noticed a painting hanging on the wall. It had not been there when she' walked past this part of the gallery before. If she remembered correctly, a different artwork had hung there previously- an illustration of a man dangling from a rope. Now it depicted the face the lighter and petal had reminded her of, asleep.

The Forgotten Portrait.

Ib looked carefully at the portrait as her memory returned. Garry. Garry's painting. She ran her finger against the edge of the frame, murmuring to the picture. "It's okay, Garry. I made it back." She looked up at the face which she assumed was peacefully sleeping. "I'll come and visit you. Here, in the gallery. Then you won't be lonely." She grinned as she heard her mother calling. "See you soon!"

* * *

Elsewhere, in a world filled with terror, a world with little hope, a world that few even knew existed, Garry smiled.

* * *

**Yeah, a little something I wanted to do. Please review, feel free to leave constructive criticism, etc.**

**I OWN NOTHING.**


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